Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,9

to diminish. I’m tired, my back is killing me and I have this horrible feeling that I may have come full circle, which means I’m most likely trapped in a hole.

My head feels woozy, and a sudden wave of nausea overcomes me. I fall to my knees, cutting them once more, surely bruising them, and my chest dry heaves a few times, my stomach too empty to oblige. It’s painful, and exhausting. My body crumbles to the rocky floor. I’m so tired. And my wings hurt.

But I have to get out. Where ever I am, I have to get out. I extend my arms and try to push myself up but the dizziness triumphs over me once more. I collapse again, this time smacking my head on a jagged protuberance from the rocky ground. I moan weakly as sharp, piercing pains radiate from the side of my head.

My body aches and releases a long groan as I rise off my stomach. It’s still black. And cold. My wings still hurt but not as bad as last time…whenever that was. My face isn’t wet so I guess the pain wasn’t as excruciating while I was passed out this time. My stomach really hurts though. Like really hurts. It’s roaring and ripping me a new one for forgetting about it. I didn’t eat much the day I was taken and nothing since.

I shuffle my body backwards inch by inch until I’m leaning against the wall. As rocky as it is, I’ve found a niche that doesn’t dig into my aching spine. As my head lay sideways along the wall, my ears pick up a slight humming noise. It’s constant and almost soothing, but it’s not enough to deter my thoughts. A few tears descend because I’m not sure what to do. I suspect I’ve been dumped in a hole somewhere with damaged wings. No, not just damaged. I fear they’ve been broken. Or maybe the metal strapped to their base adds enough weight to make them feel broken. Either way, the slightest movement is painful. I never found my satchel so I have no pixie dust to help me. I suppose I could keep calling out, but I have serious doubts I’ll find a friendly creature within earshot. And I suppose I could try to climb, but without the tiniest smidgen of light, I have no idea how to scale the wall, or how far up I’ll have to go. And if I fall…

I shake my head of the thought and instead, I try to assess my injuries in the dark. Injured wings, obviously. There’s a tender spot near my left temple that definitely has a nasty bruise. So much of my skin is burning from an infinite number of scratches, but none feel too serious. Except this one spot on my neck where I think that stinger pierced me, or most likely, a dart.

A dart. Someone actually did this to me. Was it a pixie? A faery? A sprite? I just don’t understand who. Or why. What did I do to deserve this? I’ve never hurt or angered anyone. I may be a little more free-spirited than my fellow pixies, but I always obey the elders and do what is expected of me. So what I have done wrong that karma put me here?

I sit alone in the darkness shivering, arms wrapped tightly around my waist, with tears burning behind my eyes as they fight to escape my tense, aching body.

Everything hurts. Just the slightest touch on my skin makes me wince. My mouth is dry and sticky, and my lips are crusting over. I try to lick them with my tongue, but the effect is like rubbing sandpaper on rock. I’m nauseous but I’m not sure if it’s because I haven’t eaten in a few days, or if it’s from the fecal matter I had to leave unburied in this rock prison.

I had hopes that my eyes would adjust to the darkness, but even after the days I know I’ve spent here, I still see nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ve been staring upwards for about an hour now – and I’ve got the kink in my neck to prove it – hoping that the tiniest sliver of light would give me an indication of how high these walls are. I’ve decided to climb. I know it’s stupid, what with my weakened state of mind and body. I’ll probably fall and damage myself beyond repair, or worse, to my death. But I